Every Dream's a Journey Away
by Tawnykit
Summary: [on hiatus] AU. When Seto and his brother Mokuba are taken in by a baron's wife at an early age, he swears to kill the man who slaughtered his family and stole his father's sword. But Seto soon learns that a little revenge is the least of his worries...
1. Bedtime Stories: Part I

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the _Yu Gi Oh!_ characters, merchandise, whatever. (pout) There, I said it. Are you happy now?

A/N: This idea has been floating 'round my head for a while, and I thought all of you folks might enjoy it. (is excited) This is going to be fun!

Rating: T for violence, swearing, and a few other things. As I am not psychic (Psycho, maybe...), I don't know if I will need to raise the rating in the future or not. If I do, I shall.

The name of this story comes from a line of the song _Away_ by the band Nightwish. "Away, away, away in time, every dream's a journey away. Away, away, to a home away from care, everywhere's just a journey away..."

After successfully writing a romance story, I can no longer deny the fact that deep down, I am a hopeless romantic.So, though nothing major will probably happen, if you think you see anything going on between Seto and Serenity, Joey and Mai, Yugi and Téa, and (in _much_ later chapters) Mokuba and Rebecca, well, you're probably right.

Thanks to my friend Necro (necromancy14 of LiveJournal) for betaing this!

Let's get this show on the road!

* * *

"Many, many years ago, there was a mighty warrior. He was the bravest in the land, and, with is magic sword by his side, he traveled to many places, doing many great deeds. He had much renown, and villains would quiver at the mention of his name." 

"But then he met the farm girl, right big brother? And they fell in love and settled down and got married and–"

"I'm getting there, kid. And you're getting ahead of yourself a little bit. He has to meet her before they can fall in love or get married."

"Oh yeah."

"Now, do you want me to continue?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good. Where was I? Oh, yes… There was also a beautiful peasant girl, who was raised on a farm in the country. Her family was very poor, but she was happy. One day, she was out for a walk in the woods, gathering mushrooms for her mother to make into supper, when she was kidnapped by evil men. Robbers, scoundrels, thieves the lot of them, they took her away to a place where she would never see her friends or family again."

"But big brother, you said that she was very poor. Why would they kidnap her if they couldn't get any money from her?"

"Er, well, she was very beautiful…"

"So?"

"Erm… Never mind, kid. I'll tell you when you're older, okay?"

"…I don't understand."

"…"

"Big brother?"

"…Anyway, they took her away, and she was very frightened. She was sure that they would do all sorts of terrible things to her, and that she would be killed before the night was through."

"But then the warrior came in with his magic sword and saved the day, and all the robbers went crying home to their mothers! Right, big brother?"

"Uh… Yeah, something like that. And the girl was very grateful, and she thanked the warrior many times. And the warrior was astounded by her beauty, and for the first time in his life he wondered what it would be like to give up his wandering nature and settle down.

"He took her home to her family, who were also very grateful. They offered him any reward that he wanted, that they had the power to give, but he refused. They requested that he at the very least stay the night, and so he did. And he stayed for the next night, too, and the next, and the thought of leaving never crossed his mind.

"It wasn't long before he and the beautiful farm girl had fallen in love, and he asked her father for her hand."

"Her hand? Why would he just want her hand?"

"It's a figure of speech, kid. It means he wanted permission to marry her."

"Oh. Why did he need permission?"

"Because… I don't know. It's just the way things are done."

"That's silly."

"Do you want me to continue the story or not?"

"Sorry, big brother. I'll be quiet now."

"All right, good. So, he asked her father for her hand, and he was given it gladly. He and the girl were married soon afterwards, and they were very happy. When their first son was born, there was much rejoicing in the village they had settled down in, and everyone was content."

"What was the son's name?"

"I thought you were going to be quiet and let me tell the story?"

"Oops… Sorry, big brother. Keep going."

"The son's name was Seto, and he was a very promising boy. He showed signs of great intelligence at a very early age, and he was always trying to lift his father's sword. Everyone was sure that he would become a mighty warrior, greater even then his father, and that his destiny would be grand.

"For a long time, everyone was happy. As soon as he was old enough, young Seto trained with his father everyday. He was determined to live up to his family name, and make his parents proud.

"When he was five years old, his mother had another child, a boy named Mokuba. Seto was very protective of his little brother, and he loved him very much. And for a while they were happy, and everything was good."

"Just for a while?"

"Yes. For soon, everything that they had known and loved would be turned upside-down…"

* * *

Seto shaded his eyes as he looked out at the fields in front of him. The sun was hot on his skin, and sweat dripped down into his eyes. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and focused his attention back on the field. His father had promised to train with him as soon as he was done helping the farmers plow the fields. 

The small boy blinked in the harsh light, then grinned. His father had noticed him, and was waving in his direction. He must be almost finished. Seto raced off towards him.

He dodged around several of the other farmers, being careful not to get in the way of their plows. He had seen what the machines did to the land, and he didn't want to end up looking like a newly plowed field.

"Father! Father, are you almost finished?" he called excitedly as he neared the burly man.

"Almost son, almost," his father laughed. "I just need to finish this row, and then I'm done."

"Good. You promised to show me something new today, remember?"

"How could I forget? You've been reminding me all day!"

"Well, it's important!"

"Of course it is. Did I say it wasn't?"

"No."

"Well, there you are then."

"Well, hurry up!"

The man laughed again. He bent down, scooped his young son up, and settled him on his shoulders. "Yes, sir!"

* * *

"That's it, Seto, that's it. One, two, three, highblock, lowblock, jump and strike!" 

Seto dropped back to the ground, landing in a crouch and swinging his wooden practice sword at his father's legs. His father blocked the blow with the long stick that he used when teaching his son. His own sword would have sliced the boy's weapon in half.

With a shout, Seto rebounded, leaping into the air and striking his father on his ribs. He was about to whoop in triumph when a sharp blow was delivered to his back.

He dropped to the ground, winded. His father grinned, kneeling down next to him.

"You okay?"

He nodded, still trying to catch his breath.

"That was very good, Seto. You're doing an incredible job for someone your age. Just remember to keep your guard up. Don't let yourself become so engrossed in your achievements that you fail to see the sword aiming for your back."

The child scrambled onto his knees, digging the tip of the practice sword into the ground to help him regain his feet. "Right," he said, and raised his sword into the ready position. "Let's go."

His father looked at him, pleased with his determination. He turned to look out at the horizon. The sun was beginning to set over the trees, turning the sky a bright pink, tinged with orange. It was getting late; his wife would be worried if they didn't return home soon.

"Father?"

He turned to face his son again. "I'm sorry, Seto. It's getting late. We need to be getting back."

"But Father–"

"Come now, you don't want your mother to worry, do you?"

The six-year-old scuffed his foot in the dirt, looking down at the ground. "No," he mumbled.

"Seto, listen to me," said his father, his voice gentle. "You can't spend every minute of your life training, son. You'll forget what you're fighting for in the first place. You need to take some time to relax, and enjoy life while you can. You never how long you'll be able to."

The small boy looked up at him. "I just want to be like you."

His father smiled. "I know you do. And you will be, and I'll be very proud. But in the mean time, you need to remember that there's more to life than being able to wield a sword. Never forget that, son."

Seeing the still-glum look on Seto's face, he added, "Tell you what. You and I can stay here and practice for as long as you want… But if we do, we might not make it back before your mother puts Mokuba to bed."

Horror spread on the little boy's face, just as his father had known it would. "But then I won't be able to play with him! I _always_ play with him before Mama sings him to sleep!"

"Well, that's the sacrifice you've got to make…"

Seto was already racing towards the village. He stopped at the edge of the clearing that they used for their practices. "Come _on_! We don't want to be late!"

With a small chuckle, the warrior strode off after his son. He stopped to pick the boy up and swing him onto his shoulders for the second time that day.

"What do you think Mama's making for dinner today?" the child asked eagerly.

"Oh, I don't know. There's still some meat on that deer we brought in yesterday; maybe she'll make a stew."

"And apple turnovers for dessert…" Seto's eyes were glassy as he imagined the meal that waited for them upon their return.

"Mmm… That sounds good. Or maybe that special pie she makes, that'd be nice too, wouldn't it?"

Still happily fantasizing about the wonderful things that Seto's mother could cook, father and son returned to the village that they called home.

* * *

"Mama! Mama! We're back!" Seto's cries outside the hut alerted the woman inside of the return of her husband and son. She swept out to greet them with a smile, welcoming them back as she listened to her oldest child's bubbling chatter, filling her in on what he'd been doing during the day. 

"–and then he _finally_ finished plowing and he showed me something new for me to practice – it goes like _this._" The little boy hefted his practice sword and demonstrated the technique, leaping into the air and swinging the blade in an arc.

"That's very nice, Seto," she praised, making the child beam at her.

"How's Moki? Is he okay? Nothing happened while I was gone, did it? What'd he do today? Has he managed to walk yet? Is he asleep? Can I see him? I hope you didn't sing him to sleep yet, Father said you might've, but I still need to play with him, so can I? What's for dinner?"

She laughed. "So many questions! Mokuba's fine – just like he was when you left this morning. And no, he's not asleep. He's inside. And you'll find out what dinner is after you go wash up."

He raced off to do as he was bid, tearing around to the wash bin in the back of the hut. His parents watched his antics with proud amusement.

"He'll be a strong one when he grows up," his father said. "So eager to please us, have you noticed? So eager to be strong… He's got a great path ahead of him."

"So you've said. I just hope that his 'great path' is a happy one, as well."

He put his arm around her shoulders. "I'm sure it will be."

"Mama! Father! C'mon!" At the insistent prompting of their son, the two adults followed him inside their home.

* * *

Seto watched his mother gently tuck in the sleeping form of his younger brother, still humming a few bars of the lullaby she used to calm her children into sleeping. He smiled, tired himself, and lay back on his sleeping mat, shifting his gaze to the fire ablaze in the hearth. His day had been tiring, though no more so than any other day, and he was glad that he would finally get a chance to rest. The fire was a pleasant thing, crackling softly as its warmth seeped into his bones. He stared into it, mesmerized, and when his eyes finally closed in sleep, it remained burning in his mental eye.

* * *

It was fire that he fell asleep to, and it was fire that woke him. But this fire was not the same as the friendly blaze in the hearth. This was a raging inferno, which devoured all in its path. 

He wasn't aware of what was wrong at first. A roaring sound had dragged him out of his weary sleep, and the air felt hot on his skin. In confusion, he sat up, looking around him. The air had a red-orange tinge, and sparks danced in his vision. He wrinkled his nose as an acrid scent reached his nostrils. It took his still sleepy brain a moment to figure out what was wrong, but then it hit him. Something was burning. Alarmed, he scrambled to his feet, looking wildly around for some sign of his family. The only one he could see was little Mokuba, still asleep in his crib.

Then he heard the scream. He didn't know who had made it, or where it had come from, but it was filled with terror the likes of which he had never dreamed. It came from somewhere outside the hut. He raced to the open door, running several yards outside before shock at the sight before him made him freeze.

The village was burning. Flames licked the tops of nearby huts, and a red glow had filled the night sky. Strange men with harsh voices, speaking in a language he couldn't understand, moved in and out of the inferno, shadows in the night. He was so transfixed by the horrors before his eyes that he never noticed the sword that swung for his head, its wielder intent on cutting him down…

…Until another blade intercepted it, the clang of metal on metal startling the boy into looking up.

Two swords were crossed in front of his head. One he recognized as his father's ancient blade; the other belonged to one of the harsh-voiced strangers.

"Seto! Are you all right, son?"

He looked wide eyed at his father's urgent soot stained face. He could see his mother standing behind him, but could only stutter, "F-father! W-what's happening?"

His father didn't have a chance to answer. His opponent shouted something unintelligible to Seto, and wrenched his blade away from the warrior. He slashed at the other man's chest; his sword was easily blocked. The villager locked his blade against the invaders, forcing him down. Slowly, he gained ground, and with an elegant jerk, Seto's father disarmed the other man. Not waiting for him to retrieve his weapon, thewarrior cut him down.

Seto stared in absolute horror. He had never seen his father kill.

"Father?" he asked in a small voice, barely heard above the roaring and shouting around them.

The man looked at him in sympathy, then whipped his head around as he heard the voices in the distance getting louder. More of the strangers were coming towards them. "Seto, get inside, son. Hurry!"

The boy took a small step backward, his mind in turmoil. He didn't understand what was happening, and he didn't understand why his father had killed the man now lying in a puddle of blood at his feet.

His father cursed at his hesitation, something that caused Seto to stare in surprise, in spite of the situation. He had never heard his father swear, either.

His father reached out and grabbed him, quickly passing him to his mother and pushing them towards the door. "Quickly now, get inside. You must hide!"

His mother, clutching her son to her breast, sprinted in the direction of the hut. Seto watched the shadowy figures swarm around his father. The warrior raised his sword, throwing himself into the fray. Seto could only watch in horror as a foe after foe swooped down on the man. His father's scream as a lucky blade found its mark, ending his life forever, would haunt the small boy's dreams until the day he died.

Which might not be that far off, he realized now. His mother had reached the hut, racing inside and slamming the door behind her, but they had been seen. Seto had seen the strangers start to come in their direction as the door shut them off from his view.

"Quickly, Seto, hide. You mustn't be seen!" his mother sobbed.

"But Mama, what about you?" he wailed.

"Forget me, son. There's no hope for me. Just hide, and don't let them see you. Grab Mokuba and–" She was cut off by a loud thump on the door. "Never mind. There's no time! Please, Seto, hide!" She shoved him deeper inside the house, and turned around to face the door.

Seto stared at her, feeling numb. He couldn't believe this was happening. He had just watched his father die, and now his mother was telling him that the same fate awaited her? And that he must hide, without even taking his innocent little brother with him, when he had sworn to himself and to the infant that he would always protect him?

"Hurry!" His mother's agonized cry forced him into action. He raced into the back of the hut, looking for a place to hide. He found the corner between the wall and the chair where his father would sit and smoke every night.

Just as he dove into his designated hiding place, the door, which had been being assaulted by the foreigners – for they must be foreigners, he knew no one else who spoke in such a strange dialect – splintered, admitting the men behind it.

Seto watched, unable to do anything, as one of the men reached inside, grabbing his mother. He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the sight, but he could do nothing to stop the screams.

Finally, there was silence. It seemed strange, after so many minutes of shouting. Even the shrieks from outside the hut had stopped. The only sound was the roaring of the fire, and the cruel laughter of the foreigners.

Slowly, Seto opened is eyes and peaked around the corner of the chair.

He had every intention of obeying his mother's last wish and remaining in hiding. And he really, truly tried. But the sight of his mother body, bloodied, dirtied, and tossed aside like so much garbage, caused a shout of rage to tear from his lips.

"No!"

The men lounging in the doorway looked up, surprised. One of them came over in his direction.

Seto mentally called himself as many kinds of idiot as his young brain knew. They knew he was here. His parents' sacrifices would be in vain.

He didn't try to run when the foreigner stopped in front of him, smirking down at him and calling something to his friends. He didn't put up a fight when a hand reached down, picking him up by the scruff of his shirt and lifting him into the air. Resistance would be useless.

He was roughly thrown into the center of the hut. The air escaped his lungs with a loud _whoosh_, and he coughed. He forced himself to rise to his knees, looking around him.

There were perhaps five men inside or directly nearby the hut that he had once considered to be a shelter. The door hung on its hinges, worthless for its intentioned purpose. The flames outside the village were dying down. The smell of ash assaulted him, and he wrinkled his nose. He could barely see the still form of his father lying outside the hut. His mother, as he had already noted, lay tossed in the corner, blood forming in a small pool around her. They had died trying to protect him, and now he had blown everything by not being able to control his emotions.

He looked closer at the foreigners. They were all dressed in the same uniform, with a symbol he didn't recognize on every shoulder. Soldiers, he realized, though in whose service he didn't know.

One of the soldiers stepped up to him, looking down at him with a sneer on his face. He said something that Seto could not understand, gesturing around him.

The boy shook his head, not knowing or caring what he wanted. He said in a bleak tone, "Why are you doing all this?"

He didn't expect an answer, and so he was surprised when a voice from beyond the doorway said, "Because I told them to."

He looked in the direction the voice had come from. A tall man stood there, his gray hair and mustache cropped short. A red cape adorned his shoulders; the same symbol that every solider bore was emblazoned on his tunic. As he came forward, the soldiers fell back, making room for him. He was clearly someone they respected, even feared.

"Who are you?" Seto asked.

"You don't need to know that, little boy."

"Tell me anyway."

The man smirked. "Brassy, aren't you, kid? All right; you may call me Captain Gozaburo. I'm the captain of the guard for my lord of Draikren's Peak."

Most of this didn't make sense to the six-year-old, but at least he had a name. "And why did you order your men to attack my village?" He tried to keep the quiver of fear out of his voice as he spoke. The man had a terrifying presence.

"Because _I_ was ordered to. My lord finds you savages to be so annoying… He sent us into exterminate you."

Seto gritted his teeth. Intimidating or not, this man had just insulted his people, calling them no better than animals, and it infuriated the boy.

The captain apparently saw this. He laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh, like the loud roaring of his father or the gentle, stream-like chuckling of his mother. It sent shivers downthe boy'sspine.

"You don't like that, do you, boy? Don't like the idea that your people are savages?"

"My people are _not_ savages!"

"No… You're right. They're not. Your people aren't anything, anymore. We've successfully wiped them out of existence. Except for you, little boy. How is it that you managed to survive our raid?"

Seto didn't answer, staring stonily at the malevolent man in front of him.

"I suppose you are the son of the warrior who was defending this area a little while back. I must admit, he knew what he was doing. I haven't had a challenge like that in a while; I think I actually broke into a sweat before I cut him down."

The reality of what this man had just said hit Seto like a blow to his chest. This was the man who had killed his father!

Gozaburo saw from the look on his face that he had understoodand smirked. "Tell me, brat. Does this look familiar to you?"

He drew from behind his back a sword that was very much familiar to the boy. How many times had he tried to lift it, raise it into the air and wield it like a true warrior? How many times had he watched, entranced, as his father whet and polished its blade? The blue-tempered steel shown in the eerie light from the dying fires; the white hilt, made of a substance that Seto had never been able to identify, looked somehow _wrong_ in the foreigner's hand. The sword, his father's sword, that had always somehow reminded the boy of a great, rearing white dragon, poised to strike, did not belong in the possession of this evil man.

The boy's blue eyes bore into the captain's; his voice held an icy chill that he hadn't known he could adopt. "My father's sword. It's not yours. Give it back."

This caused to man to break out into his bone-chilling laugh again. "No… I don't think I will…" He swung the blade experimentally. "This is a good sword. Better than my own, and that's saying something. I think I'll keep it."

Rage flared up in the small boy. He jumped to his feet and raced over to where his practice sword hung on the wall. He was mildly surprised that it was still there, ignored by the raiders, but he didn't take too long to dwell on the fact. He snatched the sword before anyone could stop him, turning to face the captain and leveling the shaft of wood at him. "Give it back!" he repeated.

The evil man laughed again. "What, boy, you want to fight me? Very well… Come boy, let's see what you've got."

Seto charged, emitting a loud cry. He remembered all the things his father had taught him, recalled each training session in their clearing, and summoned up every technique that had been drilled into his mind. He swung his sword, leaping into the air, crying out again. Drop to the ground, crouch, swing, leap again, slash, remember to watch your back, it was all in his mind. The captain evaded most of the blows, though several found their mark.

Seto had to be careful to avoid the sword as much as possible, he knew. The sharp blade would carve his own weapon into pieces. He dodged as much as he could, attacking whenever he had a chance, shouting his rage and his pain, until…

…The weapon shot out of his hands. Seto dropped to the ground, rolling from the force of the blow that had disarmed him. He hit the far wall with a loud thud, gasping for his breath, and lay still.

Footsteps caused him to look up into the face of his conqueror. The man was smirking at him.

"Not bad for someone your age, kid. Not bad at all… Too bad I have to kill you now. Tell me, which would you prefer…?" Gozaburo showed him two blades, one of them his father's. "Your father's blade? Or the one that I used to end his puny life?"

Seto stared at the swords, not answering. There was no proper answer to that. He was in despair. He had taken the gift of life his parents had tried to give him and effectively shattered it into a thousand pieces.

And then he heard the cry. His head shot around, searching for the source. His heart nearly stopped when he saw what had made it.

One of the soldiers, apparently bored with watching his boss toy with a child, had started poking around the remains of the hut. He had found Mokuba, somehow still sleeping in his crib.

The infant had been roughly grabbed out of the crib, awakening him, and was now dangling by one arm from the soldier's too-strong grip. The loud wails as he cried echoed slightly against the bare walls.

Seto's eyes widened in horror. They had found Mokuba! While he had been throwing his life away, they had found his baby brother, and were most likely about to put him to death.

With a strangled sob, Seto shot between the captain's feet. He hurdled towards the soldier, snatching his brother from his clutches, and raced towards what was left of the door.

Cursing, several of the ruffians tried to grab him, but he dodged every time. It was not just his own life on the line this time, but his little brother's, who he had sworn to protect.

With one last dodge and a burst of speed towards the door, Seto, clutching his baby brother to his chest, raced off into the night, soon pursued by the force that had torn his life to pieces.


	2. Bedtime Stories: Part II

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu Gi Oh!. I do own this story. If there are any characters in this story that you don't recognize, they're probably mine. Don't forget it. Don't sue me. I don't like being sued.

* * *

"You all right, kid?" 

"Of course!"

"You sure? You look a little scared. I don't want you to have nightmares."

"I'm _fine_! Besides, I've heard the story before!"

"Yes, and you always turn white as a sheet at this part."

"Well, maybe I'm a little _worried_, but not _scared_!"

"All right, calm down."

"What happens next?"

"You've heard the story before, remember?"

"Yes… but keep going, you're just getting to the good part!"

"Very well…"

* * *

"Quick, stop him!" 

"You there, stop!"

"He's getting away!"

The furious cries from the ruined village only urged Seto on, running faster and faster through the dark forest that he had once considered friendly. Now it was an ominous, shadowy thing, offering no help to the small boy as he fled his pursuers. At least the gloom might hide him for a little while, giving him enough time to elude capture and escape to somewhere they could never find him and his brother.

He could hear crashes not far behind him. Soldiers had entered the wood, cursing as they were met with briars and thorns.

The same thorns reached for Seto, clawing at his arms and legs, shredding his skin. He resisted the urge to cry out; he needed to be silent. They mustn't find him.

He was glad that Mokuba was being quiet. He doubted that the infant had fallen asleep again, not with all of the commotion around them. It was almost as if he had sensed the urgency of the situation, and held back the cries, normally an infant's solution to everything, that would alert their hunters to their position.

Looking ahead, Seto felt a wave of relief wash over him. He had been heading for a certain spot in the forest that he had visited many times when hiding from his parents, as all mischievous children will do. An old tree had stood here for as long as Seto could remember, one of its limbs just low enough for a child to climb onto and pull himself into the concealing branches. If he could reach it, he hoped to hide there. If they thought that he had kept running on past the tree, he might have a chance to escape.

The branch was above him now. He reached up with on arm, carefully holding onto his brother with the other, and grabbed onto it, hoisting himself up. He rolled on top of the broad bough just as the first of the soldiers came into site.

He held his breath, hoping beyond hope that they would pass by underneath.

They slowed to a stop underneath the tree, looking around. He heard one say something to another in their strange foreign language.Another said something in return, uncertainty in his tone.

Suddenly, there was a rustling off in the distance. The soldiers froze, then shouted and chased off in the direction it came from. Seto, who had lived in and around the forest since the day he was born, knew what the sound really was. He closed his eyes, sending a silent prayer of thanks after the fox, out hunting in the night.

Forgetting himself for a moment, he gave a loud sigh and leaned back against the tree trunk, preparing to wait out the night.

When he opened his eyes, he found he was staring at the smirking face of one of the soldiers.

Seto gave a yelp of alarm. His brain rapidly processing information, he realized that the foreigner must have heard him sigh, and immediately berated himself for failing to remember the need for silence.

The man reached for him, grabbing onto his collar; Seto bit him. The soldier shouted, blood dripping from the wound, and Seto let go, shoving himself away from his enemy. He fell to the ground, pulling Mokuba on top of him so that the infant wouldn't be hurt by the fall.

His breath was knocked out of him when he hit the ground; he lay in a daze. The soldier's furious shouts, and the sound of more soldiers crashing through the underbrush towards them, urged him to force himself to his feet and take off running.

He ran blindly now, not knowing where else to go. He heard the strangers pursuing him, shouting loudly. He looked around wildly for somewhere he might hide, and, with a cry of triumph, saw a thicket ahead that just might do the trick.

He tore inside through a small opening. Though he doubted that they wouldn't know where he had gone, he was sure that no one of the hunters' size would have been able to fit in behind him.

Thorns tore at his flesh, even worse than before, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. He sheltered his brother as well as he could and kept on running.

When he had reached what he believed to be the center of the thicket, he stopped running, and, panting, turned to watch the direction from which he had come. He could just barely hear voices, though he couldn't understand them. Then he heard a voice that caused his blood to boil with rage…

* * *

Captain Gozaburo strode onto the scene, watching his men form a wall in front of the briar patch where the boy was hiding. He couldn't understand why it had taken them this long to corner the child. While he had admitted that the boy knew what he was doing with a sword, he didn't see why twenty of his best men hadn't been able to detain him. 

He walked over to the man in charge of the troops. "Sergeant. What news?"

"'Ee's holed up in the thicket, Milord. None of my men are small enough to go in and get 'im out." The man smirked, and gestured to where some of his squad were starting to light torches. "We were goin' t' flush 'im out."

Gozaburo smiled viciously. "Very good, Sergeant. Carry on."

* * *

Seto listened uncomprehendingly to the exchange between the Captain and his subordinate. He wished he could understand what they were saying. The ability to eavesdrop would have been extremely useful just then. He would have given almost anything to know what they were planning. Little did he know, he was about to find out. 

He was relieved, if a little suspicious, to see that none of the men were trying to enter his refuge. He crouched down, trying to get comfortable yet still have to capability to run at a moment's notice.

He looked down at the infant in his arms. Wide gray eyes stared back at him; the tiny child gave a small whimper.

"Shh…" Seto whispered, trying to remember what his mother had done when Mokuba looked like he was going to cry. The memory was painful, but he managed to keep the boy silent.

It was then that he noticed the glow coming from the direction of the foreigners. He didn't realize what it meant until he felt a wave of heat wash over him.

_Fire!_ he realized with a start. For a minute he was paralyzed with horror, before he sprang once again into action, racing away towards the opposite end. They would be waiting for him, he knew. He would just have to be sure that they didn't catch him.

* * *

Lady Elaine Kaiba of Draikren's Peak sat sewing in her tent. She wasn't sure why she had been brought on this excursion; they certainly had no intention of allowing a woman to participate in or even observe the raid. Not that she would have wanted to, of course. The sight of so many innocent villagers, some of them children, being slaughtered would have made her sick. 

She sighed. She was bored. Her husband, the lord of the Peak himself, was off somewhere in camp. Captain Gozaburo had assured him that his presence wouldn't be necessary for this raid, but he still felt the need to be out and about while his men were carrying out such a task.

She was surprised to hear shouting in the distance. The men weren't expected to return for quite some time, but she couldn't think of who else could be making that racket.

She was even more surprised when she heard what the voices were saying.

"Quick, stop him!"

"He's heading towards camp!"

"Blast, would someone just _kill_ that kid?"

"Kid?" she murmured. "What kid?"

Curiosity getting the better of her, she stood, walking towards the tent flap. Lifting it, she peered into the gloom.

In the distance, she could see what appeared to be twenty of the soldiers sent to the village running about in random directions. More soldiers were scurrying about in the camp, arming themselves and hurrying to the assistance of their fellows.

It took her a few minutes to pinpoint what exactly had them all so rallied up. She gasped when she saw the small figure that was darting around the clearing.

"It's just a child!" she gasped.

She knew the rule for raids such as this one. Her husband was very strict about enforcing that no one, man, woman, or child, was to survive such a thing. He believed that they would cause trouble for him in the future. But Elaine could not allow an innocent child to be slaughtered without putting up a fight. Hitching up her skirts, she ran in the direction of the commotion.

She had almost reached the tiny figure when one of the soldiers, apparently having had enough of the chase, shot an arrow at the boy. It found its mark in his side, and he fell to the ground with a cry, curling around the wound and around something that he clutched in his arms.

The soldiers quickly formed a circle around the still form, one of them stepping forward with dagger drawn, prepared to end the boy's life.

She could watch no longer. "Stop!" she called.

They looked at her, surprised.

"Milady, what…?"

She pushed her way through the circle, kneeling down next to the child. She expected to find him unconscious, even dead, so she was surprised to see blue eyes piercing into her own. She stretched out a hand, gently placing it on the child's shoulder.

He shrank away, whimpering. She noticed him curl tighter around whatever he was holding, so tight that whatever it was emitted a small squeak.

The boy eyes widened at this; he quickly sat up, allowing whatever it was to breathe again. She drew in a breath herself when she saw the tiny figure.

_An infant_… she realized.

Blood from the older boy's arrow wound stained the little one's face and smock, from where it (she could not tell if it were a male or female) had been pressed against the boy's chest. She looked at the wound, hoping that it wasn't that bad.

She didn't know a lot about injuries, but it didn't look life threatening. She sighed in relief.

She could see fatigue in the older child's face. Smiling reassuringly, she held out her arms, offering to take the boy's burden off his hands.

He shrank away again, holding the infant protectively. He said something in his native tongue, a language she had never been schooled in.

"It's all right," she murmured, knowing that he could no more understand her than she could him, but hoping that her voice would calm him down. "I'm not going to hurt you, it's okay."

Gently, she took the infant out of the child's arms. He let her, watching her apprehensively, prepared to lunge forward and snatch it back if she made the least gesture to harm it.

She cradled the infant in her arms, still smiling at the boy. "See? It's okay."

The soldiers watched this exchange with nothing less then amazement. They lowered their weapons, uncertainty spreading through them.

"What's going on here?"

Soldiers, woman, and boy all stiffened at the familiar voice. The only one who appeared unaffected was the infant, who watched everyone with interest, not understanding the danger it was in.

"Lady Elaine? What do you think you're doing?" Captain Gozaburo shoved his way past the soldiers, scowling.

She looked up at him, frowning. "They're just children, Captain. Surely even you cannot be so cruel as to murder them."

"You know the rules, Milady. No survivors. You're husband is very firm about that, as am I. They cannot be allowed to live."

"Why not? Look at them! They're just children, just scared little children! Why must they be put to death?" She placed a protective arm around the older child's shoulders, shifting the infant so that she held it with one arm. The boy stiffened as she did so, not trusting her, but he didn't pull away.

The Captain sighed. "Why are you being difficult, Milady? You didn't protest when we set out in the first place. If this heathen boy hadn't fled here you wouldn't even have known who he was."

"Well, I know now. I won't let you slaughter them, Captain."

"Milady, don't make me fetch your husband…"

"You have no need to, Captain. I'm already here." A tall, slightly overweight man had joined the group, limping slightly from a battle wound acquired long ago.

"My lord!" The soldiers and the Captain all dropped down to one knee, showing reference towards the baron. Lady Elaine, already kneeling next to the injured boy, bowed her head.

"Captain Gozaburo is right, my dear. We cannot allow these children to survive."

"But that's cruel!"

"My dear…"

"Please, my lord!" she beseeched. "Let them live!" She searched for some excuse, any reason at all for her husband to bend the rule and allow them to survive. "My lord, we have no children, you and I. You need an heir. We could take them in, we could–"

"You are suggesting that we raise heathen children as if they were our own?" he sputtered, incredulous.

"Yes! They're both very young; look, this one can't be more than a few years old! And this one's just an infant! They're young enough that we could teach them as if they were born to us. Please, my lord, anything but killing them!" Her grip around the boy's shoulders tightened; he hissed in pain as she brushed the arrow shaft still sticking out of his side, and she rubbed is arm in apology, willing him to keep quiet.

The Lord of Draikren's Peak looked down at his wife and the children she was so determined to keep alive. She was right: they had no children of their own, nor were they likely to acquire any. He could see the pleading in her eyes, the fear and pain in the older child's, and the innocence in the infant's. He sighed.

"Very well. But they are to stay out of my way."

"Thank you, my lord, thank you!"

He waved her gratitude away. "I don't want to hear of them causing trouble. They are your responsibility, Elaine," he said, sounding very much like a parent giving a child their first pet. Indeed, that was all the children were to him, toys to keep his wife amused until something better came along. And if nothing better did come along? Well, he supposed they were better than nothing.

Captain Gozaburo stayed silent throughout the argument, gritting his teeth as he watched the woman persuade the old lord. He had been looking forward to killing that brat.

"Captain, I trust that there were no _more_, survivors," the baron said, turning to face him.

"Yes, my Lord Kaiba. The village is dead." He tried to keep his hatred for his lord out of his voice. It wouldn't do for the baron to learn of that just yet.

"Good. You are dismissed, Captain."

"Yes, sir." He turned to his troops, motioning for them leave as well.

Elaine watched all of this, and then turned her attention back to the children. She stood, holding out her hand to the older child. He hesitated and then took it.

She led him to her tent, taking care not to walk too fast for him. His legs were much smaller than her own, and he was tired and wounded on top of that. Had she not held the baby, she would have picked him up to save him the trouble of walking at all.

They reached her tent. Elaine let go of his hand to lift the door flap. She started to walk inside, then noticed that the child wasn't following her. She turned to look at him and saw him facing away from her, staring off into the distance. She frowned, following his gaze.

He was looking out at the horizon, where a faint orange glow could still be seen. _His village_, she realized. She felt a wave of sympathy wash over her. _Poor thing. That's his home they burned to embers, his family and friends they killed_…_ Such a terrible thing to have to go through, especially for one so young._

She was startled, though not particularly surprised, when he murmured something in his native language. Dropping to his knees, he said something else, his hands grasping the grass beneathhis feet.

She knelt down next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. He made no effort to move away this time.

She rubbed his shoulder, saying, "I wish I could understand you, little one. I'm going to have a hard time helping you when we don't speak the same language."

"He said, 'Father.' And then, 'Mama.'" She looked up, startled. Captain Gozaburo stood watching them, his face expressionless.

"Poor thing," she said, hoping that perhaps the Captain had had a change of heart. "He misses his parents. What happened to them, exactly, Captain Gozaburo, do you know?"

He nodded. "His father was a brave fighter, I'll give him that. He knew how to use a sword." He grinned nastily. "I had a rather amusing time, killing him."

She grimaced. "And his mother?"

A blasé shrug. "My men had their way with her before she died."

Elaine shivered at what he was implying. She hoped that the boy hadn't watched either of his parent's deaths; she could only imagine the kind of trauma such a sight would put him through. "Ask him his name, please, Captain. I need to know what to call him."

Captain Gozaburo frowned, but complied, speaking to the boy in a hard voice.

The child looked up at her, his eyes bleak, then turned his attention to the formidable man in front of him. He replied in an emotionless tone, then gestured at the infant in her arms and said something else.

"He says his name is Seto, Milady. And that his brother is called Mokuba."

"Thank you, Captain, that's very useful. If you will excuse us?" She stood, once more taking the boy's hand. "Come, Seto, let's get you inside."

She felt a tug on her hand; looking at the boy, she could see his eyes fixed on the retreating back of the Captain of the Guard.

He shouted something. Captain Gozaburo stopped, turning back to him. The boy spoke, and Elaine was alarmed at the cold fire in his tone.

The Captain laughed, replying mockingly. Seto answered him in the same voice as before. Gozaburo laughed again.

"What did he say?" she asked.

"He's swearing revenge for what I did to his family and promising to retake his father's sword," he showed it to her, "and kill me with it. Nothing to be concerned of, Milady." Still chuckling, the man turned away.

Looking down at the hard eyes of the little boy, remembering the deadly tone he had spoken in, Lady Elaine wondered if the Captain shouldn't be a little bit more apprehensive about the threat.

* * *

Seto watched the woman who had just saved the lives of his brother and himgently wrap Mokuba in a blanket and settle him on one of the sleeping mats that had been brought to the tent. The infant had fallen asleep some time ago. Seto envied him. He was exhausted. His skirmish with Captain Gozaburo, his run through the forest, not to mention the fact that he hadn't gotten a full night's sleep, had left him drained of all energy. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open. 

His ordeal was not over yet, however. Finished seeing to the infant, the woman was walking towards him. She knelt down in front of him, looking him in the eye, and spoke.

He shook his head, giving her a small smile, trying to show that he didn't understand. She nodded.

She reached forward, touching his forehead. "Seto," she said. She half turned, gesturing at his brother. "Mokuba." She put a hand to her chest. "Elaine." She cocked her head at him.

He nodded. He understood. He tried out the foreign word, the name feeling strange in his mouth.

She smiled, saying something else. He heard his name, but that was all that he could understand. He shook his head again.

She reached forward, gently touching the arrow shaft in his side. She then gestured that he should stay in the tent, and left.

Seto sat back, leaning slightly on the tent wall. There were no chairs in the tent; it was obviously a temporary facility.

He waited. Fifteen minutes later, Elaine returned, followed by a small man that he had never seen before.

Elaine came over to him, carefully picking him up. He stiffened, alarmed; he'd never been held by a stranger before. She murmured to him in soothing tones, and he relaxed slightly, allowing her to carry him towards the stranger.

She sat down at the man's feet, holding Seto in her lap. The stranger crouched down next to them. There was a bag slung over his shoulder; he set it down in front of him and began to examine Seto's side.

Then Seto realized who this man was. A healer, come to look at the arrow wound.

The healer snapped off the shaft close to his flesh, then gently removed his shirt and began to work on the wound itself. Seto clenched his jaw as the arrowhead was removed and the wound cleaned and bandaged. The pain was immense. Elaine held him steady, talking softly to him.

When he was finished, the healer held up the arrowhead to Seto, offering it to him. Seto took it, examined it, and put it in his pocket. It might come in handy.

The healer rose, speaking with Elaine. He handed her a container from out of his bag and left.

Elaine stood, still holding Seto, and carried him over to the nearest sleeping mat. She set him down on it, then pulled the lid off the container. He could see a whitish cream inside. She began to rub the cream into the many scratches in his skin, given to him by the underbrush in the forest.

The cream stung, but not as much as having the arrowhead removed had. He gritted his teeth and was able to keep from crying out.

When her task was complete, Elaine stood, replacing the lid on the jar and setting it aside. She picked up his shirt, offering it back to him. He took it, pulled it on, and sat watching her, waiting to see what she did next. He hoped she would let him sleep; he wasn't sure how much longer he could stay awake.

She smiled, his fatigue obvious to her, and nodded. With a tired sigh, Seto lay down on the sleeping mat and closed his eyes, immediately falling into a deep sleep.


	3. Bedtime Stories: Part III

Disclaimer: (weep) I don't _have_ to say it, do I?

Yami Tawnykit: (looks on in disgust) Fine, you dolt, _I'll _do it. (clears throat) My foolish _omote _does not own _Yu Gi Oh!_, any of it's related products, or anything else you mortals would find of value. She will someday, though. Once I take over the world, I will have no use for such idiotic dribble, and will give it to her. In the mean time, the only thing she owns are her stories, which are made for her and your enjoyment and put no money into her pocket. Use one of her characters, stories, story ideas, et cetera, without her permission, and I will gleefully steal you soul.

(No, I don't claim to thave the eighth Millennium Item, though if you know where I can find a Millennium Pencil I'll love you forever. Just a few voices in my head, is all...)

* * *

Sunlight awakened him, bright on his face, shining in his eyes. He sat up, wincing as the arrow wound in his side protested at the movement. He looked about him, confused at first. This wasn't his home. Where was he? 

Memory came rushing back to him. Fire. Death. His family… all lost.

No… not all lost. He looked around him, panicking slightly. Where was his brother?

He relaxed when his eyes fell on the infant's sleeping form, lying at his side.

"He's safe…" he murmured in relief. He allowed himself to sink back down to the sleeping mat, sighing as he closed his eyes.

Something dug into his thigh, biting into his skin. Frowning, he sat back up, reaching down to see what had disturbed him.

It was the arrowhead that had embedded itself in his side the night before. He remembered now: the healer had removed it and offered it to him, why he wasn't sure.

He reached down, feeling the place where the sharp stone had cut him. The wound was small, barely enough to cause him to bleed, but bleed he did. His fingers came away stained red.

He looked at the crimson liquid, watching as a single drop fell from his hand. The injury was something he could handle. It wouldn't even slow him down.

The blood, however, reminded him of something else he had to do. A final farewell needed to be said, and an oath needed to be made. Revenge needed to be sworn. Climbing to his feet, he stumbled over to the tent flap, looking out. The camp was barely stirring in the early morning light. He had enough time.

He glanced over his shoulder at his brother. Should he take him with him? It was both of their lives that had been destroyed, after all. But he looked so peaceful, sleeping there; he was loathe to wake him. And something told him that this was something he had to do on his own.

He gazed down at the arrowhead once more. It was stained the rusty color of dried blood from when it had pierced his skin the night before, its tip shiny with the crimson color of the fresh blood that had been added this morning. His fingers closed around it determinedly as he set off in the direction of the charred remains of what had once been his home.

* * *

Lady Elaine Kaiba smiled as she entered her tent, expecting to be met by the peaceful sight of her two new charges calmly slumbering on the sleeping mats. She had gone out to get some breakfast, and she had brought food back for the boys, though to be honest, she was unsure of what to feed the younger of the two. She had never taken care of an infant before, and she didn't know what kind of foods he could eat. 

She looked over at the sleeping mat where the older boy – Seto – had fallen asleep last night. She gave a little gasp, her eyes widening. He was gone. She hurried over to the blanket that she had covered him with the night before, now shoved carelessly to the side. Placing the tray of food down, she picked the blanket up, as if he might be hiding underneath it.

He wasn't. Frantically, she looked around the tent. She was immensely relieved to see Mokuba, still serenely sleeping where she had left him the night before. The fact that the child was still there meant that Seto hadn't run away. From what she had seen last night, he wouldn't have left his brother behind if he hadn't been planning on returning.

She stood, careful not to step on the tray of food beside her, and hurried to the tent flap. She was half out before she stopped, wondering if she should take Mokuba with her. She decided that it would be for the best. She didn't want to leave him alone. What if he woke and started crying when there was no one to see to him?

She swept over to him, gently taking him into her arms. He whimpered, stirring as he began to wake. She made soothing sounds, quieting him. When he had fallen into a deeper sleep, she left the tent.

Elaine searched the camp, nearing panic as time went on and she didn't find him. Hoping that he might have only left to relieve himself and that he had now returned to the tent, she hurried back there, her hopes crashing when she saw that he was still gone. She could think of nowhere else he could be.

She dropped to her knees, tears welling up at the thought that she had failed in her self-appointed mother-role before it had even fully begun. She cradled the infant, determined not to fail him, as well.

"Milady?"

She gasped, startled, and turned to face the man who stood behind her. It was one of the soldiers, dressed in a leather jerkin and trousers instead of armor. The insignia over his heart marked him as a member of the sixteenth cavalry division.

"Milady, is somethin' wrong?" he asked. "Is there somethin' I can 'elp ya with?"

She rose, conscious of the fact that she was kneeling in the mud, sobbing over an infant, in front of a common soldier. Perhaps he could help her, though.

"It's one of the boys that I took in last night. He's disappeared."

The soldier frowned. "How long has 'e been missin'?"

She looked at the sun, gauging the time of day from its position in the sky. It was still early morning, but she had been looking for over an hour, and there was no telling how long he had been gone before that.

"Over an hour," she told him. "I left to go get breakfast, and when I came back he was gone."

The guard was silent, thinking. Finally, he spoke. "Milady, I… might know where 'e's gone."

"Really?" she asked, hope rising inside of her.

"Do ya know anythin' of 'is family, Milady?" the soldier asked.

She blinked. How was that a relevant question?

"Milady?"

Frowning, she replied, "I… know his father was a warrior, but–"

"I thought so," he interrupted. Then his eyes widened as he realized that he had cut the noble off. "Forgive me for interruptin', Milady, but I've a pretty good idea where 'e might have gone. 'E'll have been raised in the traditional ways of the son of a warrior, ya see. 'E probably…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "Come with me, Milady, I'll show ya."

"…Thank you, soldier."

The man nodded, giving her a bit of a smile. "Of course, Milady."

"And, soldier?"

"Yes, Milady?"

"Do you have a name, soldier?"

"…It's Duncan, Milady."

* * *

Seto gritted his teeth, straining against his heavy burden. _Almost_…_ there_… he reassured himself. _Just a little_…_ further_... _Got it!_

He stepped back to admire his handiwork, sinking to his knees in exhaustion. He had been working at it for what seemed to him to be ages, and he was relieved that he was finally complete, though the fact brought him no joy.

It was a burial pyre. He had come back to the remains of his village to give his family a proper resting place, allowing their spirits to pass on in peace. With great effort, the small boy had managed to slowly drag their mutilated bodies into the remnants of the hut, aligning them so that they lay next to each other on the floor in the center. He had covered them with a cloth, hiding the wounds that had ended their lives.

He had then set about taking the burned out pieces of the cabin and attempted to arrange them in a traditional pyre fit for the burial of a warrior and his wife. The end result was makeshift at best, but it was all he could do. He hoped their spirits would accept it. Something told him that they would.

With a tired sigh, he clambered back to his feet and reached into his pocket. Earlier in the day, he had found a steel dagger; remembering what his father had taught him about starting fires, he had tucked it away to be used later. Now, he pulled out both the dagger and the arrowhead that had been taken out of his side the night before. He held them out in front of him now, his tired brain reciting the words that had been drilled into his head over and over, should he ever be lost in the woods and have need for a fire. _Flint and steel_… _Hit flint against steel_… He struck the steel dagger against the flint arrowhead, and watched sparks leap towards the floor from the strike. He blinked when the didn't catch in the wood, and tried again. Then he scowled; he had forgotten timber. He replaced the dagger and arrowhead in his pocket and staggered outside.

* * *

"There 'e is, Milady." 

Elaine looked where Duncan was pointing. There he was, all right. She took a step forward, intending to go down and retrieve the wayward boy, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She looked at Duncan, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

"Don't interrupt 'im, Milady."

"Why not? Interrupt him from doing what?"

"…Ye'll see, Milady."

She frowned, but returned her gaze to the six-year-old in the ruins below her. He didn't appear to have noticed them; he had not yet looked in their direction, and he was moving about what was left of the village square determinedly, obviously looking for something. "What's he doing?" she murmured, but she received no answer.

* * *

Elaine thought that he hadn't become aware of their presence watching him from the hill that overlooked the village, but she was mistaken. Exhausted he may be, child he may be, but he had been trained since the time he could walk to observe his surroundings. He didn't particularly care if the woman who had saved his life watched what he was doing, so long as she didn't interfere, and he presumed that the man with her was also a friend, seeing as she seemed to trust him. He also noticed that she held his baby brother with her, as well, and he was glad for that. 

He continued his search for kindling, a none too easy task after the fires of last night. Finally, he had acquired a handful of easy-to-light twigs, and he returned to the home that had become a tomb.

* * *

"'E's movin', Milady," Duncan pointed out unnecessarily. "We can move closer now." 

The two adults crept down to the place where the child had disappeared among the ruins. They could see him ahead of them now, a lone figure weaving among the burned out remains of the village.

Elaine noticed curiously that he would stop occasionally, bending down to something on the ground and reaching out, his every manner that of intense sorrow. It wasn't until they had come a little ways into the village that she realized what he was doing.

She stopped, feeling sickened as she looked down at the mutilated corpse at her feet. It was – had been – a woman. Her face was etched in a permanent look of terror. Blood spattered her clothing and her skin, which was burned and blackened from the fires the previous night. A long gash ran from her neck, between her breasts and down to her lower abdomen. She hadn't been lying in the sun long enough for her body to begin to decompose, but it was a stomach-turning sight nonetheless.

Elaine swayed slightly, feeling nauseous. She jumped when she felt a steadying hand on her arm, pulling her away from the corpse.

"Steady now, Milady, easy does it." There was sympathy in the soldier's voice, sympathy and sadness. Sympathy for the woman who had never seen tides of war before, and sadness for the woman whose life had been ended by it. "Ya all right, now, Milady?"

"Y-yes." She looked up to where Seto was once more bending down, clearly next to another body. "W-what's he doing?"

Duncan let go of her arm, satisfied that she wasn't going to collapse now. "Well… 'E's… sayin' goodbye."

Elaine watched the boy reach down and touch the forehead of the corpse, bowing his head in obvious farewell. The body was small; it had been merely a child when its life had been ended so. Perhaps it had even been a friend and playmate to the boy that was now standing and limping on.

Elaine swallowed, forcing herself to follow.

* * *

Seto lurched back to the hut, grief draining him of the last of his energy. He was upset that he had to leave the remains of the rest of his people here without proper burial, where the crows and other scavengers could pick at their bones and defile their once-proud bodies, but there was nothing he could do. It had taken everything he had to drag his parents here and set up the pyre, and he was running out of time. 

He raised his head, forcing his arms to place the kindling at the foot of the pyre and to once more strike flint against steel. This time, the sparks caught against the timber, rising up to light the rest of the pyre as well.

He stood watching the flames, then tossed the dagger aside in disgust. It had been one of the invader's, dropped during the skirmish, and he wanted nothing more to do with it. He looked down at the arrowhead. It had been an invader's, too, but it had become so much more to him. Twice it had pierced his skin, and his blood stained its once black surface. It was a symbol now, and he ran his small fingers up and down its side.

He looked back at the flames, then down once again at the arrowhead. There was one more thing he needed to do, and then he could rest.

Bracing himself, he held out his right hand, grasping the arrowhead in his left. He placed its edge against his skin, took a deep breath, and drove it into his flesh, making a cut along his palm. Pain blinded him for a minute and his stomach rolled, but he tried to ignore it. When his vision cleared, he watched the blood well up in the wound, then held his arm above the nearest tongue of fire. Deep crimson liquid fell from his hand into the flames, hissing as it struck the intense heat.

Seto bowed his head. "Father… Mama…" he whispered. "I… I swear it, you're lives will be revenged. I'll get your sword back from that monster, Father. I'll make him pay for what he and his men did to you both. I give you my word."

Shaking, he rose to his feet, pressing his bleeding hand against his chest, and replaced the arrowhead in his pocket. Turning around, he walkedto where Elaine stood with the man and Mokuba. He could see horror on her face and grim sympathy on the man's. They had watched him make his oath.

He stumbled to Elaine's feet, steadying himself against her legs with his uninjured hand. He looked up at her as she spoke, worry in her tone. He couldn't understand her language, but her question was clear enough.

"I'm okay…" he mumbled, and stood up straight. He held his hands up to her – he wanted Mokuba.

She hesitated, and he frowned. Who was she to withhold his brother from him?

Then the man – Seto had discerned by now that he was a soldier, and he was unsure how he felt about that fact – said something to her, and she slowly bent over so that he could take the infant from her arms. He looked up at the soldier and saw something unexpected in his eyes: understanding.

He turned his attention to Mokuba. Blue eyes met gray he as saw that the infant was awake, calmly watching him. Blood from his injured hand was seeping into the boy's wrappings, staining them, but Seto didn't care. It wouldn't hurt him, after all. Turning, he carried his brother back to the pyre.

He heard Elaine and the soldier follow him, but he made no move to stop them. He stood, holding Mokuba and watching the flames until they died down to ashes, leaving nothing of his parents or the only home that he had known for all of his life.

He collapsed to his knees in exhaustion and anguish, finally allowing the tears that he had been holding back to come. He curled around Mokuba, his tears falling onto the child's forehead.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, but he lacked the energy to sit back up. Someone helped him, gently taking Mokuba from his arms and supporting him. He looked up to see his brother being held by the soldier, and found himself sitting in Elaine's lap. He sagged against her, sobbing into her shoulder.

After that he knew no more.

* * *

He awoke with a start to the unsteady feeling of the earth moving beneath him. He tensed, looking around him. His eyes widened when he saw where he was. 

He sat on the back of an enormous horse, much bigger than the nags that the villagers used as pack animals. Hundreds of other horses and riders were stretched out in a line in front of and behind him. There were wagons and carts as well, the end result being a massive caravan that was moving along a dusty road, the forest that he had known all his life left far behind them.

"So ya're awake," said a voice above him. He jerked his head up in surprise. It was the soldier who had been with Elaine earlier, riding behind him.

Seto opened his mouth to say something, but his voice croaked when he tried to speak. The soldier pulled a canteen from his belt and offered it to him. He took it and drank greedily – he had neither eaten nor drank anything since dinner the night before. When he was finished, he handed the canteen back to the soldier, who took it and replaced it at his belt.

"Better?" he asked.

Seto nodded. "You can speak…?"

"Hikarian, yes.

Seto frowned. He remembered his father telling him that their people were called Hikarians, and that it was a name he should bare with pride. He didn't know how this stranger knew the language, though. "How?" he asked.

"I know a thing or two about yer people," he replied. "Includin' the language. How's yer hand?"

Seto looked down at his hand. Someone – probably the healer from the night before – had cleaned and bandaged it. He flexed it experimentally. It hurt, but it was bearable. "What happened?"

"Ya fainted. Blood loss, probably, and exhaustion." He smiled apologetically, and added, "That was quite an impressive feat, ya know. Someone as small as you doin' whatya did." He didn't mention the pyre by name, but Seto knew what he meant.

"Where's my brother?" he asked.

The soldier gestured to his left and a bit in front of him. Seto could see Elaine riding a chestnut mare sidesaddle, dwarfed by the many warhorses around her. He could just see Mokuba sleeping in a sling across her chest.

Satisfied, he looked back up at the soldier. "Who are you?"

"Name's Duncan, sir."

"Why are you 'sir'ing me?"

Duncan shrugged. "Milady Elaine's adopted ya. That makes ya a noble, just like she is."

"She's a noble?"

"Yes sir."

Seto was silent, absorbing that. He couldn't fathom why a foreign noble would want to take in an orphaned boy and his infant brother.

"'Ere, sir," Duncan said. "I've got somethin' for ya. Two somethin's, actually." The soldier reached into a pouch at his belt and withdrew something. He handed it to Seto, who took it. It was a pastry, filled with some kind of meat.

"Ya must be hungry," Duncan added as he sniffed at it, his mouth watering. "Go on; it's not poisoned or anythin'."

Seto took a bite, chewing appreciatively. It was good; he hadn't had anything like it before.

"There's this, too, sir," Duncan added. Seto looked up to see him holding the arrowhead.

His eyes widened. The arrowhead had become immensely important to him. It was now a reminder of everything that had happened, of the oath that he had sworn. So long as he had it, he knew that he could never forget. He reached out his hand for it, and was relieved when Duncan gave it to him.

"Managed to save it for ya, sir. The healer wanted to take it; thought ya might 'urt yerself again."

Seto rolled his eyes, tucked the arrowhead into his pocket, and returned to his meal with a mumbled thanks.

When he had finished the pastry, he shifted in the saddle, trying to get comfortable. He had never ridden a horse before, and he found that he liked it, though his legs were too short to even come close to reaching the stirrups that held Duncan's feet. His small hands clutched at the mane for support as he leaned forward eagerly, feeling much revived after his late breakfast. He looked down at the ground, not afraid of the height as he studied the way the horse walked, picking up one foot at a time. Right front, left back, left front, right back, right front, left back…

He sat up, beginning to get dizzy. He twisted around in the saddle, trying to peer around Duncan and look behind them. He saw that they were riding near the front of the line, which stretched as far as he could see behind them. In the far distance, he could just see the forest that had been his home, getting smaller as they left it behind.

He froze, his eagerness fading away, and slowly faced forward again. He looked down at his hands, fighting back tears. _No_… he thought. _I can't cry. I did that once already, I can't cry anymore. I have to be strong so I can keep my promise. I have to be strong for Moki._ Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he tried to quell the burning in his eyes. A single tear dropped down to splash on his hand, and then he had himself under control.

"Why did you attack us?" he whispered.

Duncan was silent for a moment, trying to think of how to best put what he had to say. Finally, he spoke. "A lot of folks nowadays… don't like yer people very much."

"Why?"

"Why does the sun rise in the east, sir?"

"What?"

Duncan sighed. His answer, when it came, was filled with bitterness. "It's human nature t' hate what they can't understand. Yer different, sir, yer culture is strange to a lot of folks. There's other reasons, too. Yer people were here fer centuries before we started movin' in. Call it greed, call it selfishness, call it stupidity, but apparently there's no room t' share."

Seto was silent as he absorbed this information. His hands clenched the horse's mane. He knew he should be angry, but for some reason all he could feel was a quiet numbness. He had never been exposed to the world of selfishness and hatred, and he didn't understand it now that it was rearing its ugly head.

He needed to understand it, if he was going to be living in it from now on. He needed someone who understood it to teach it to him.

"…Can you teach me?"

"Teach ya what, sir?"

"Everything I need to know to survive in your world."

"…Yes, sir."

"And your language?"

"That too, sir. I'll do it."

"…Thank you."

Seto turned away from the soldier then, facing forward, towards the future and whatever fortune awaited him there.

* * *

A/N: I wanted this to be longer, but… Ahem. Very long already. I had also intended for it to be the last of the background information chapters, but I'll have to make at least one more. 

Hikarian: "Hikari" means "light" in Japanese. I chose this name for Seto's people because his childhood will have been "light" whereas now he is decending into darkness. And I suppose because the raiders set his village on fire. Fire is light. (nod)

Oh, I keep forgetting. I have an announcement to make.A simple matter of shameless advertising: If you have a LiveJournal, you may be interested in checking out The Locket Keepers, an incest-free community I recently created dedicated to Seto and Mokuba. There's a link from my profile page if you're interested. Hope to see you there!


	4. Bedtime Stories: Part IV

Disclaimer: Still no luck with the whole stealing the rights to _Yu Gi Oh!_ thing…

A/N: It's alive! _Alive! _(...I always wanted to say that...)

I'm terribly sorry for the delay, old chaps. I had an awful case of Writer's Block.

I realized I made a mistake with the ages. Seto was five when Mokuba was born, but since I'm figuring that several months have gone by since then, he would have turned six. So, yeah; Seto is six.

* * *

Seto stared in open amazement at the sight before his eyes. 

Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined such an enormous building. The homey huts of his village seemed like pigsties compared to the beautiful white castle that towered above him. Its walls were a shining white that seemed almost unnatural – should they not have become stained by dirt and the weather? – and colorful flags and banners hung from the battlements. He could see more towers reaching towards the heavens than he knew how to count, and even the smallest portion of the massive complex could have easily held several of his former homes stacked one on top of the other.

Even from a great distance, he had sensed the extreme bustle around the keep and the village that surrounded it. The place seemed about to burst from the activity as more people than he had ever seen before gathered in this one area.

Castle and village sat proudly atop a small bluff that protected them from attack on three sides. The third was fronted by a churning river; the only way to cross was via a drawbridge that could only be lowered from inside the castle wall. The village was protected by that same wall, spreading out from the castle's main gate by the bridge and surrounding the colossal structure.

They crossed the drawbridge, with Seto clinging tightly to the horse's mane as the mighty river passed beneath them. Where he came from, rivers were things to be feared and respected even as they gave life to the land and creatures around them, not tamed by man like was demonstrated here. Such a drastic change was disturbing to the small child.

These thoughts were immediately forgotten as they passed through the village. Seto's senses were assaulted with so many wondrous, fantastic, unbelievable things that his head spun and he was left in a stupefied daze. His eyes could see thousands of different colors, more shades of reds, oranges, yellows, and every other spectrum of the rainbow than he had ever seen in the sky after a storm. The sweet songs of minstrels combined with the chatter of the crowd and the squealing, braying, and lowing of assorted animals to make a pleasant symphony of sound that serenaded the boy's ears. The wind, cool on his face, brought the scent of people, animals, and a hundred different types of food products to his nostrils, and his mouth watered as he imagined what such wonders would taste like.

It was one of the most terrifying things he had ever experienced.

He found himself missing the quiet peacefulness of his home even as he delighted in what his senses told him. He shook his head, gritted his teeth, and resigned himself to his new future.

They entered the palace itself, coming out in an immense inner courtyard that was at least the size of Seto's entire village. It was no quieter here than it had been in the town: stablehands hurried forward to take their horses, officers shouted commands, people called greetings and praise to the soldiers. Seto pressed back against the firm man behind him only to feel his traveling companion begin to dismount.

Duncan steadied the boy as he wobbled and almost fell, then pulled him gently from the saddle and set him on the ground. Someone led the horse away as Seto re-accustomed himself to standing upright, his stiff muscles protesting.

Duncan crouched down by his side. "Ye all right?"

A shaky nod.

A hand was placed on his shoulder as the soldier gestured to Lady Elaine, who had also dismounted and was now walking towards them, Mokuba still in a sling across her chest. "Ya need to go with Milady, sir."

Seto watched her approach warily. He had kept an eye on her the entire time, making sure that she was being sufficiently gentle with his baby brother, and, aside from a few clumsy amateur's mistakes, she was doing a decent enough job. She had saved both their lives, and he had resigned himself to trusting her.

The language barrier would be a problem, however. He looked back at Duncan. "Are you coming?"

Duncan squeezed his shoulder. "I can't."

"Why?"

"Stupid rules and regulations."

Seto frowned at the vague reply, opening his mouth to press for more information, but his mouth snapped shut as Elaine finally reached them. She spoke to Duncan in the strange language that was so much gibberish to the little boy. He picked out his own name from the string of nonsense, but other than that he could no more understand what she was staying than he could fly over the castle wall by flapping his arms.

Seto shifted his weight from foot to foot in impatience, his eyes on his infant brother. When there finally came a break in the conversation, he interrupted them by tugging at Elaine's riding skirt.

Surprised, she smiled down at him. She said something, and he didn't need to understand the words to hear the question.

"My brother. Give him to me," he answered.

Elaine glanced at Duncan for a translation, then gazed down at Seto. He was now holding out his arms in silent demand for the child, and with only the slightest hesitation she bent down and placed the boy in his arms.

Mokuba was awake. As his gray eyes settled on Seto's familiar face, he smiled and gave an infant's gurgle. A tiny hand stretched up to touch Seto's cheek, and the small boy giggled, his only way to express his glee at seeing his brother.

Seto smiled, taking the boy's hand in his own. He could feel Elaine and Duncan's eyes on him; he ignored them. They didn't matter.

Elaine finished speaking with Duncan. The soldier bowed to her, grinned at the boys, and trotted off to join his regiment. The noblewoman knelt down by Seto, saying something slowly to him. He sighed, patiently shaking his head.

She mimicked his sigh, then held out her hand. Awkwardly, the boy shifted his brother so that he was held with one arm; with the other, he took the offered hand.

He stayed close to her as she led him inside the castle and down a labyrinth of twisting turns and passages. He was lost within the first five minutes; navigating the forest near his village was easy, but this maze of stone walls was beyond him.

They climbed a set of stairs, headed down another passage, climbed more stairs. She stopped more than once to make sure he was keeping up and wasn't too winded; he would have told her that he'd worked harder than this on a daily basis if she would have understood him.

They finally stopped outside a simple yet elegant wooden door. Elaine turned to smile at him, doing her best to look reassuring, but the fact that she seemed to think he would need it undermined the effect.

The noble opened her mouth to speak, then remembered it wouldn't do any good and grimaced. She patted him on his shoulder instead, squeezing slightly. He resisted the urge to shrug her hand off – _this woman was **not** his mother!_ – but managed to hold it back. If they were to fall out of favor with Lady Elaine, their lives would be forfeit, and as the bundle in his arms constantly reminded him, that was not an option.

Straightening, Elaine knocked on the door.

* * *

Mariam Norris sat in a large rocking chair next to the fireplace in a scene that would have been serene had her very manner not been of a hawk preparing to strike. Her hands, which in others of her generation might be trembling with age, worked briskly at a square of needlework, which was already covered with a complex pattern of design and color. Vines, laden with brightly colored flowers, wove amongst each other as various birds dove through the "air," filling the cloth with fantastic images that only a skilled artist could create. 

She was bored. This was a sad fact. The masterpiece in her lap held no interest for her; she had made better. She worked on it absently and reminisced about the past.

The old woman had come to Draikren's Peak many years ago, when she had not been quite so old. She had been escorting her charge, a young girl, into her new life, and, somehow, she herself had found a new life as well.

A boring one.

One would think that after all she'd done for the Lady Elaine, the least she would receive in return would be some excitement.

It was then that someone knocked on the door.

Mariam sighed, glancing out the window. According to the sun, it was a little past noon. Lady Elaine had probably just returned from her trip and was paying her old nurse a visit. How thoughtful. The old woman scowled. What a woman was doing on a trip like _that_ she had no idea, and she wasn't afraid to voice her thoughts – loudly – to anyone who would listen.

Whoever was outside the door knocked again.

"Well?" she called impatiently. "It's not locked, you know. It never is."

The door swung open and Lady Elaine's voice rang through the room. "Hello, Nurse! I'm back!"

"'Course you're back," Mariam snapped without looking up. "If you weren't back you wouldn't be talking at me and I'd still have some piece and quiet." She was actually glad for the disturbance and both women knew it, so Elaine didn't comment.

"So? How was your trip?"

"Well, actually, it–"

"Can't have been good, I imagine," the old nurse interrupted. "Don't know _what_ they were thinking, bringing a woman on an excursion like _that_. I told them, I said, 'There's no place for a lady like Elaine in with filthy soldiers and dead children,' but did they listen? No, they did not!"

"It's funny you should mention that–"

"I hope they didn't make you watch or go down into the ruins. Those poor people. I've never understood why we can't just leave them alone; they haven't done anything to harm us, now have they? We just–"

"Nurse!"

"Yes, dear?" Mariam finally looked up, surprised at the urgency in the noblewoman's voice. When her eyes fell on the small figure standing in the shadows at her former charge's feet, she gave a little gasp and covered her open mouth with one hand. "My lady..."

"Nurse, this is Seto and his little brother Mokuba," Elaine said, putting her hand's on the little boy's shoulders and shoving him gently in front of her. "They're survivors of the raid."

"Survivors?" Mariam asked, still looking stunned. "But they never leave survivors."

"Well, they did this time," Elaine said, her tone defiantly firm.

The old nurse knew that tone of voice. "Elaine, you _didn't_..."

"I had to, nurse."

"You..."

"Nurse, listen." Her hands tightened on the child's shoulders. "I... They..." She took a deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts. "I couldn't just let them kill them, Nurse. They had run from the village, and Seto was already hurt, and I couldn't just let them kill defenseless children. It's like you said, they never did anything wrong!" Her eyes, wide and pleading, beseeched the older woman to understand.

"You did them a disservice, did you know that? They're going to be taunted and ridiculed their entire lives. Should have just let them die."

"Nurse..."'

Mariam sighed. "What do you want done with them, then?"

"I... I convinced the baron to... to let us adopt them."

"Adopt... My lady!"

"Well, it was either that or let them be killed in cold blood!"

The nurse stood, setting aside her needlework. She came over to look down at the young foreign boy and the tiny infant clutched in his arms. "Well? What do you want me for?"

"Well... I was hoping that... you could..." At Mariam's raised eyebrows, she tried again. "It's just that... I mean, you raised _me_, and I thought..."

"Shoving all the work off on me, eh?"

"Oh, Nurse, no, I'll help, really I will! It's just... I really... have... no idea... what to do," she finished lamely, smiling sheepishly at the old woman.

"Hmph. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I couldn't let them die, Nurse."

"Hmph," the nurse said again.

Before any further argument could be made, the baby gave a little whimper. Three pairs of eyes settled on his form as his face wrinkled and a thin whine escaped his lips.

Eyes wide in alarm, the older boy tried to silence the babe, murmuring in his own language and jouncing the little body up and down once or twice. "Shh, Mokuba, hush, I know you're hungry, just wait a little, _please_..."

His efforts were in vain, however. Soon the whine had turned into a wail as the tiny child proclaimed his need to the entire world.

Mariam glanced at Elaine. No help there; the noble's face was the picture of panicked helplessness. With a melodramatic sigh, the old woman bent down to eye level with the older child. "You, boy. Seto, is it? Give him to me," she snapped in his native tongue.

So surprised was Seto that she could actually speak his language that he didn't resist when she plucked the infant from his arms. "Elaine, when was the last time this boy had anything to eat?"

"Why, not since breakfast... just after dawn. Nurse, I didn't know you could speak Hikarian!"

"Well, what would _you_ do if you were holed up inside all day with nothing to do? What do you mean, not since breakfast?"

She bit her lip nervously. "Is that wrong?"

"Damn straight it's wrong. Boy, how old is your brother?" This last was directed at Seto in Hikarian.

"A few moons," was the startled reply. "What are you doing to him?"

"Seeing to it that he gets some proper nutrition. If you want to be helpful, run down to the kitchens and tell the cook to mix up some baby formula; she'll know what I'm talking about." Seeing him hesitate, she added, "Don't worry, she speaks Hikarian. Off you go."

"But–"

"Don't argue, boy."

"But I don't know the way!"

"Hmph. We'll all go, then. Elaine, come, we're going down the kitchens."

Elaine blinked as the old woman switched languages again. "Okay."

Mariam herded them out of the room and into the hallway. As they again entered the maze of passages, Seto resigned himself to being lost and decided that the first thing he would have Duncan teach him would be how to get from point A to point B in this warren of stone.

When the arrived at the kitchens, the eccentric old woman wasted no time in ordering what she wanted. She kept up a running chatter with both Seto and Elaine, explaining what the milky substance that was being heated up was – the finest goat's milk, mixed with various herbs that were supposedly very healthy for children Mokuba's age.

She fixed Seto with one sharp eye. "And I suppose you'll be wanting something, too, eh boy?"

Seto raised an eyebrow at her, glancing at where Elaine now sat feeding his brother.

Mariam followed his gaze. "No, not like that, Elaine dear, what do you want to do, break his neck?" She adjusted the woman's hold on the infant and then turned back to Seto. "No, you don't have to drink that. Don't see me drinking it, do you? You do have teeth, don't you? You can handle solid foods? 'Course you can. Hold on." She then snapped something that he couldn't understand at one of the cooks. The girl winced and nodded, hurrying to obey the order.

A plate of strange smelling food was shoved in front of him. It was nothing like what his mother had made, nor even akin to the food they'd eaten on the journey here. He sniffed at it suspiciously and wrinkled his nose.

"Well, go on, boy, eat it. It's not poisoned, you know."

He glared at her, then picked up the fork from the tray. He held the instrument awkwardly in his hand – he much preferred chopsticks! – and struggled to remember what Duncan had taught him about how to use the foreign object. Finally getting the hang of it, he took a bite of the food.

His eyes widened. Really, he should stop being surprised at how good the food tasted; he'd had this reaction every time he'd tried something new. He happily set about devouring the rest of the chewy meat.

"That's it, boy," the old woman encouraged. "Eat it all up, now."

Seto was only too happy to obey her.

* * *

Seto gazed out at the courtyard. He had left his brother in the capable hands of the old woman – she'd told him to call her "Nurse Norris" or even just "Nurse." At least, he was pretty sure her hands were capable. She'd certainly known more about children than Elaine had. 

"After all," she'd said when he'd commented on this, "I _did_ raise Lady Elaine."

He'd managed to convince her to give him directions to the courtyard. Her instructions were good, and he'd gotten here with no trouble. His problem was what he was supposed to do next.

He wanted to find Duncan. Elaine and Nurse Norris were all very well and good, but Elaine, of course, couldn't understand him, and the nurse was... well, she was a very interesting person, to say the least.

Sighing, Seto set out across the still bustling courtyard, trying to remember which direction Duncan had left in. Deciding on a direction (but none too sure if it was right or not) Seto hurried down a stone tunnel.

When he reached the other side, he smiled in satisfaction. He was pretty sure this was it. He saw several low to the ground buildings sprawled across an open space – soldiers' barracks, perhaps? There were also men in uniforms and a hundred other buildings and devices of unknown military use. Where else would he find a soldier?

Suddenly, a familiar sound reached his ear. Memories rushed back to him, and he felt tears prick his eyes as he recalled the training grove and his father's teachings. He swallowed, blinking away the tears – _he would **not **__cry!_ – and followed the sound of wood against wood and metal against metal, accompanied by not a few battle cries, until he'd reached a large area that had been cleared to allow the soldiers room to practice their weapons skills. He sat down at the edge of the field, studying their techniques carefully.

The little boy went unnoticed for quite some time, however there was no way for him to avoid their attention forever. With a cry, one of the soldiers disarmed his opponent. Scowling, the defeated man retrieved his practice sword and gazed around the field, looking for something to vent his anger on. Seeing Seto, he gave a dark chuckle and jogged up the child, motioning for some of his friends to join him.

"What are ye doing here, sonny? Looking for trouble, are ya?" he asked.

Seeing the incomprehensive look on the boy's face, he laughed and sneered. "What, too stupid to understand?"

"Prob'ly," one of his friends joked. "He's the little brat Milady took in; Hikarian, can't y'see? Stupid filth..."

"Ah..." With a wicked light in his eye, the man smiled down at Seto. "What're _you_ doing here, son?" he asked in Hikarian.

"Sitting," Seto answered simply. "And I'm not your son."

The man laughed. "No, you're right. My son doesn't have dirty blood like ya."

"Excuse me?"

The soldier and his friends laughed again. "Ya heard me, y'filthy brat. Go on home, why don't ye?"

Seto felt strangely calm. He would have thought that he would be angry, and so was vaguely surprised at this, but he knew that this fool was not worth his anger. He did need to be taught a lesson, however. Seto could arrange that.

"I would, sir," he said, keeping his voice clipped but polite, "save for the problem of a great load of murderers going through and burning it down."

"Oh ho, murderers, are we? I think that was a challenge, don't you, boys?"

"You can take it as such," Seto replied calmly. Inside he was smiling.

"Give th' kid a sword." The brute had a malevolent smile on his face; it was clear that he was certain that he was going to put this foreign brat in his place.

Seto glanced idly at the wooden practice weapon that was offered, point first, in his direction. He stood, ignoring the weapon and heading for a nearby rack that held other options for him. Never trust anything an enemy offered to you.

He tried out several of the practice swords until he found one that had a weight and balance he was comfortable with. He carved a figure eight into the air with it and allowed a flitting smile to grace his features. Then, nodding his satisfaction, he returned to the soldier.

The man was waiting for him with sword drawn. Forgoing the customary pleasantries of bowing and saluting, which Duncan had told him that even this strange culture saw fit to observe, the brute swung his sword at the, in his opinion, helpless youth.

It was over very quickly. This man was no great swordsman, and Seto wouldn't have been surprised to learn that he was drunk. His attack was easily blocked, and the small child quickly slid under his arms and sent his wooden blade up to whack the bully in his groin.

The man, who was not wearing armor, gave a strained groan and dropped to his knees. Seto had gotten out of his way by then, and he helped his opponent on his way down by bringing the weapon crashing down between his shoulder blades.

Seto danced back and waited for the next attack. It never came.

Suddenly, a roar of laughter split the air. Seto and the man's friends, who were bent over their fallen companion, turn to find its source, and Seto was delighted to see that Duncan had been watching the small skirmish. He waved; the man returned the gesture.

"That's what ye get for pickin' a fight with a Hikarian, Cerdric," Duncan quipped, careful to use Hikarian so that Seto could follow. "An' don't look so surprised. They teach 'em young where 'e comes from."

He walked up to Seto, standing in between the glaring soldiers and the small boy. "How ye doin', sir?"

"Please don't call me that."

"What shall I call ye, then?"

"Seto. That's my name."

Duncan smiled. "Master Seto, then." Seeing the boy open his mouth, he held up his hand. "I have t' use some formalities, or I could get in trouble."

Seto sighed. "Whatever."

"So, Master Seto... How'd ye like t' try yer skills wi' someone who actually knows what 'e's doin'?" The soldier grinned and chose a practice sword from the rack.

Seto smirked. "And I thought I was the only arrogant one around here."

"'Nuff talk, then."

They spared for some time, and Seto's rudimentary skills soon began to be his downfall. Rather than laughing as their observers did whenever the wind was knocked out of the boy, Duncan helped him to fix the problem. The man reminded Seto of his father, and he again felt tears prick his eyes.

Furiously, he blinked them away and concentrated on what Duncan was telling him. Suddenly, a tall figure caught his eyes.

It was Gozaburo. The Captain was studying him with cold interest. Their eyes met, and Seto felt burning hatred and determination settle over him.

_Are you watching, _Captain_ Gozaburo? You'd better be, because it's the only way you're going to survive our next battle. Because I swear it, we _will_ battle again!

* * *

_

The two children sat in silence for a while after the older finished telling his tale, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally, the younger broke the quiet by sighing, looking at his brother, and breathing, "…Wow…"

The older boy gave him a tiny smile. "You always say that."

"I always _mean_ it, too." The little boy crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly, not believing that his beloved brother would _dare_ to doubt him.

The offending brother's smile grew to a smirk. His little brother was a wild one at times, though he was the sweetest person that the twelve-year-old knew. "You should get ready for bed, kid."

Predictably, this idea was not met with any enthusiasm. "But–"

"No buts. It's way past your bedtime; you don't want to get in trouble, do you?"

The little boy sighed. "Guess not." He slid out of his brother's lap, where he had been curled up until that time, and shuffled dejectedly to the oaken door of the bedroom. Upon reaching the door, he stopped. "Hey… Big brother?"

"Yes?"

"Did Seto ever revenge his parents?"

The older brother hesitated, and then his expression softened. "I'm sure he did."

"Good," the child smiled back. Turning, he opened the door, but stopped before he could step through. "Big brother?"

"Yes?"

"The story… Is it real?"

The older child looked at the younger one, the flickering light from their fire casting shadows on his face. His little brother watched him with baited breath, hoping and fearing what his answer would be. Unbeknownst to the little boy, the older's hand was touching a cordwhich hung around his neck, suspending a bloodstained arrowhead over his heart.

Finally, the older boy spoke.

"…No, Mokuba. It's not."

"Oh." The seven-year-old's face fell in disappointment. "Well… Goodnight, Seto."

"Goodnight, little brother."

* * *

A/N: You now know all the background for the real story. Any guesses as to what happens next? 

I slaved over this for hours when I was sick so that I could bring it to you today. Now show some appreciation and review me, please?


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